


Great Horned Ace

by fantasyseal



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon Compliant, Everyday Magic, M/M, Nosebleed, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, clumsy bokuto, curious akaashi, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasyseal/pseuds/fantasyseal
Summary: Owl kids, magic, and owl kids talking about magic.Or, a fic that contains the line "You expect me to believe that your hair naturally resembles a great horned owl."





	1. Magic

Bokuto’s just cleaning.

Just cleaning, his wings nowhere in particular.

He doesn’t _have_ to help clean, could make the first- and second-years do it, but it’s nice to cool down with nothing more difficult than cleaning scuff marks off the floor and running balls to the carts and cranking the net down for the day. And Sarukui’s not here, so he can use his wings to knock balls to him. He has no idea how so many wind up on the floor every practice. They’re supposed to grab their balls during drills. He should probably talk to the team about that, tomorrow.

Bokuto reaches his left wing out to scoop a ball, not really paying attention (most of it’s focused on mopping the floor). Last one, at least he thinks it is.

On its way to the ball, the leading edge of his wing smacks into something that gives under the force of the blow and is most definitely not what Bokuto was aiming for.

Bokuto’s wings disappear with a noisy _boom,_ and he whips around, scanning. _Crap, did Saru come in? Why didn’t he dodge?_

_Oh._

Akaashi Keiji, Fukurodani’s new vice-captain and official setter, stands in front of him with a stunned expression and one hand over his nose.

“Kaashi!” Bokuto blurts, racing the few feet to his teammate. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t see you…”

“It wasn’t you,” Akaashi says (in his _really, Bokuto-san_ voice). “The air assaulted me.” (Right, Akaashi, that makes way more sense.)

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, “um, funny story, there, which can totally wait until we get you checked out…are you bleeding?”

“Yes.” Akaashi takes his hand away from his nose. “I have a nosebleed, Bokuto-san. It’s a non-lethal condition.”

“Don’t Bokuto-san me when you’re hurt,” Bokuto mutters. He escorts Akaashi out of the gym, ignoring the worried looks of everyone else. He tries to clamp down on the guilty _I hurt Akaashi I hurt Akaashi_ chant in his head that definitely does _not_ want to be ignored. _Just gotta get Akaashi fixed first._

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, “what happened to your shirt?”

 _Oh._ Right. He’d put his wings away. “I’m, uh, out of laundry.”

“But it wasn’t like that earlier.” Akaashi frowns at Bokuto’s back. “I can see your tattoo. Which I thought you were finally going to admit was an incredibly elaborate prank when I became a second-year.”

“Akaaaaaaaashi!” Akaashi frowns at the dragged-out version of his name. “Your nose is bleeding, you’re leaving like, a whole trail of blood drops behind us and making it look like a murder scene, and you’re worried about my _tattoo?”_

“I can’t stop my nose from bleeding,” Akaashi replies.

“Yeah, but why aren’t you _worried?”_

Instead of responding, Akaashi stops in front of a door. “The clinic’s here, Bokuto-san.”

“Right, I knew that.” Bokuto opens the door for Akaashi.

“Volleyball team?” The nurse looks up. “Koutarou-kun, what…”

“Not me this time!” Bokuto interrupts. “Akaashi hurt his nose.” He points to Akaashi and the dried blood on Akaashi’s face to prove it.

The nurse stares. “Akaashi-kun…all right, here, take a tissue. Koutarou-kun, how did this happen?”

“I can speak for myself,” Akaashi says, pressing the tissue to his nose. “I’m not certain. We were cleaning up, and something hit me.” He can hear the note of irritation in the other boy’s voice. Akaashi, he’s noticed, absolutely _hates_ mysteries he can’t figure out.

“You served a ball into his nose, Koutarou-kun?” the nurse asks while examining Akaashi’s face.

Bokuto coughs. “No! We were cleaning, and I was just picking things up…”

“I’m fairly sure this is broken, Akaashi-kun.”

“Wonderful,” Akaashi says. He’s really refined sarcasm to an art.

“I’ll get you some ice, but you should really go to a proper hospital.” The nurse apparently just has bags of ice stored under her desk. Akaashi takes one with a polite thank-you and holds it to his nose. “Koutarou-kun, take better care of your underclassmen!”

“Yes, ma’am.” She can’t possibly know that it’s Bokuto’s fault Akaashi’s sitting in front of him trying to simultaneously hold a tissue to his nose, hold ice on his face, and look completely unruffled by the entire situation. “Kaashi, cmon, we gotta tell everyone you aren’t dead.”

He gets a glare in return (and can practically _hear_ Akaashi reminding Bokuto-san how his name is pronounced in his head), but Akaashi stands and follows Bokuto out.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto tries, tentative.

“My nose is broken, and the gym appears to have a personal vendetta against me. No.”

“That, uh, wasn’t the gym.” Akaashi raises an eyebrow, inviting him to explain. “That was me.”

“Bokuto-san, please don’t blame yourself.” Akaashi adjusts the ice on his nose. “You were several meters away from me.”

“Still my fault.” Bokuto hears Akaashi scoff. “I mean it, I’ll show you when I walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, and tries to sound playful around the knot in his throat, “but then I wouldn’t get to tell you the story behind my tattoo…”

Akaashi’s head snaps up, broken nose forgotten, and Bokuto grins. He’s won.

“Akaashi oh my _god_ did Bokuto finally kill you,” Konoha yells from the doorway.

“Broken nose!” Bokuto calls back, thumping Akaashi on the back (and making him stumble, oops). “He’s fine, though.”

Akaashi regains his footing and walks pointedly in front of Bokuto, brushing through the door for his bag and slinging it over his shoulder one-handed. Bokuto barely has time to grab his own before Akaashi turns to him with one raised eyebrow (he’s never seen Akaashi raise _both_ eyebrows and has come to the conclusion that he can maybe only do it on one side). “Well?”

“Yeah yeah yeah, let’s go!” Bokuto waves Akaashi on and lets his wings pop back out before he runs to catch up. “Uh, which way do you live, again?”

“Turn right out of the school.” Akaashi takes the ice off his face. His nose is definitely somewhat the worse for wear, but at least it isn’t bleeding anymore. “Bokuto-san, really, I’m not dying.”

“I don’t believe I broke your nose,” Bokuto mumbles. “It’s like, my second day as captain and I already screwed up.”

“Stop that, you’ll spiral.” Sometimes Bokuto wonders, if Akaashi had glasses, if he’d push them up his nose like the characters in anime do. It’s a shame he doesn’t need them. “I’ll admit I’m not sure what happened, but you had nothing to do with it. It was an unfortunate accident.”

“Kinda wasn’t, though.” Bokuto stops and waits for Akaashi to notice. “Kaashi, what’s on my back?”

“Your shirt and your tattoo.”

“No, I mean _look.”_ Bokuto turns around.

“It’s…” He can hear Akaashi’s squint even without seeing it. “Bokuto-san, I think I may have hit my head. My eyes don’t seem to be focusing.”

“Nah, it’s not you.” Bokuto extends one of his wings, gently, and bumps Akaashi’s shoulder.

He’s going to cherish the expression of pure surprise and shock on Akaashi’s face, and the sheer _height_ he achieves on his jump into the air, forever. He never sees Akaashi jump that high in matches.

“Explain,” he orders when he lands. “Now.”

“Um, you might wanna sit, it’s a long story.” Akaashi finds a bench and crosses his legs, waiting for Bokuto.

“Okay, so, I’m kinda magic.” Bokuto swears Akaashi rolls his eyes. “Seriously! I don’t dye my hair, even, it’s just like this, and I don’t wear contacts either! You’ve seen me at training camps, you know I don’t spike it…”

“I assumed you got up earlier than the rest of us.”

“Oh, right, you sleep in forever…anyway, no, it just grows that way.”

“You expect me to believe that your hair _naturally_ resembles a great horned owl.” Akaashi crosses his arms. “Bokuto-san, if this is some story to make me feel better about my broken nose, it’s unnecessary.”

Bokuto groans. “Akaaaaaashi, you’re being so…Akaashi-y.”

“Excuse the repetition, Bokuto-san, but as I believe I’ve mentioned, my _nose is broken.”_ Akaashi points at the bruised mess on his face, in case Bokuto hasn’t noticed. “I appreciate your effort to take my mind off it, but…”

“Kaashi will you please just give me your hand,” Bokuto blurts, because words are difficult and showing Akaashi would be _so much easier._

“We’re not holding hands.”

“It’s not that.” Bokuto’s cheeks flush, because okay, on his end at least it most definitely _is_ that, but in this particular instance that doesn’t need to enter into the equation. “I know you can’t see properly, so I’m gonna show you, that’s all. Without scaring you again. That maybe wasn’t my best idea.”

Akaashi offers the hand that hasn’t been holding tissues to his bloody nose. “If someone’s hiding in the bushes with a camera, Bokuto-san, I’m not tossing to you tomorrow.”

“Akaaaaashi! I wouldn’t do that!” Bokuto says, trying his best to look offended (judging by Akaashi’s stifled laugh, he isn’t succeeding). He takes Akaashi’s wrist and extends one wing as slowly as he can, watching to make absolutely sure he doesn’t bump Akaashi again. “Ready?”

Akaashi dips his head, so Bokuto guides Akaashi’s hand a few centimeters over until it rests on his wing’s leading edge. Akaashi yanks his hand back instantly, out of Bokuto’s grip (skinny as Akaashi is, he’s stronger than people tend to assume when they see him next to Bokuto).

“My wing doesn’t bite, Kaashi.”

“Your…” Akaashi narrows his eyes. “Your _what?”_

Bokuto offers his hand for Akaashi’s instead of answering, and gets it. He maneuvers Akaashi’s hand so it rests on his wing again, and when he’s sure Akaashi isn’t going to pull his hand back, moves it down the leading edge.

Akaashi starts exploring on his own, after about ten seconds. “These are huge. How do you handle them on the court?”

Bokuto laughs. “Remember my tattoo?”

“Obviously.”

“I put ‘em away when we’re playing or practicing,” Bokuto says. “Cause I might hit Saru, and also volleyballs kinda bounce off ‘em and it’s too risky to keep them out? But I use them when we clean up to grab balls, and I, uh…”

“You broke my nose reaching for one,” Akaashi finishes.

Bokuto drops his gaze. “Yeah. Sorry, Akaaaashi.”

“You broke my nose because you were in too much of a hurry cleaning up to just _reach_ for the ball. With your _arms.”_

“They’ve always gone through you before,” Bokuto mumbles. “I don’t watch them if Saru isn’t there, ‘cause he’s the only one they hit. Usually.”

Akaashi takes three deep breaths, in the inhale-exhale pattern Bokuto’s supposed to use when he gets too worked up on the court. “Why me, and why now? Is this something that occurs with the onset of puberty?”

“Nuh uh.” Bokuto shakes his head. “I’ve had wings since I was a baby. And I can’t remember ever not seeing other people’s.”

Akaashi frowns. “Then why am I only starting now?”

“I don’t know, Kaashi! I’m not smart like you are!” Bokuto sticks his lip out. “I busted your nose ‘cause I didn’t think to watch for you. Coach’d kill me if I pulled that on the court.”

Akaashi gingerly touches his nose and winces. “It’s nothing.”

“Kaashi, I _hurt_ you, that’s not nothing!”

“Bokuto-san, have you ever known me to downplay when something was your fault?”

Bokuto thinks of Akaashi’s silent gaze first year, his apology when his toss was off and his sharp words of polite criticism when Bokuto’s spike was timed poorly or sloppy, his gradual replacement of their third-year setter as their coach realized who won them games, who had memorized every spiker's best toss, his calm reaction to Bokuto’s breakdowns during games.

“That…no. Not a problem. That we have. You’ve always been good about telling me how to fix my screwups.”

Akaashi straightens his back. “So trust me when I say that it was an accident. And not one easily preventable. I promise to get my nose looked at. It’s more important to work out why this is happening, and if it will continue, or if it’s some sort of fluke.”

“Don’t think it’s a fluke,” Bokuto says. “You’ve been seeing my wings since like, first year.”

“Yes, and you’ll have to explain to me how you scale them down like that at a later date.” Akaashi taps one finger against the side of the bench. “Do you know anyone you could ask?”

“Kuroo an’ Kenma an’ Inuoka don’t know,” Bokuto says. “Ummm, maybe my parents?”

“The Nekoma setter and their obnoxious captain?” Akaashi asks. “And that blocker you hate because the setter always sends him to mark you specifically?”

“That’s them.” Bokuto grins. “Kenma’s a cat, and…I dunno if Kuroo’s anything, but he knows about Kenma and me. And Inuoka’s a dog. Some kind’a hound.” He leaves out that Kuroo mostly knows because he’d found Bokuto flapping his heart out behind the gym at training camp. He’d been molting, and there was a _really itchy_ stuck feather that refused to come out. All he’d managed to do was find out that his wings generated enough wind to knock back a fairly large and stocky person.

“Of course,” Akaashi mutters. “That explains a lot.” He looks at Bokuto. “Please be careful to tuck in your wings during cleanup. I’m going home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bokuto protests. “I said I was walking you home, and I meant it! I’m your captain, I gotta tell your parents how you got hurt!”

“You’re planning to tell them you hit me. In the face. With your magical owl wing.”

Bokuto’s mouth clicks shut. “…How d’you know I’m an owl?”

“It’s obvious.” Akaashi shrugs. “Your tattoo is patterned after owl wings, and besides…” He gestures to Bokuto’s hair. “You said that was a result of magic.”

“I was gonna tell them I aimed a serve badly or something,” Bokuto mutters. “Cmon, Kaashi, let me help so they don’t think you fell during practice or something. You know they worry about you.”

“No, they think I’m wasting my time playing a sport,” Akaashi says. “And stop butchering my name, please.”

“Sorry, Akaaaaaashi.” Bokuto drags the ‘aaaaa’ out on purpose, grinning at the scowl Akaashi directs his way. “So can I come? Please? Just long enough to be a good captain and a good upperclassman and then I _swear_ I’ll go straight to my house.”

“Fine.” Akaashi stands up. “I’ll text you how my nose is doing when I see a doctor. Please don’t text me about it a thousand times the way you usually do.”

“I worry!” Bokuto waves his phone at Akaashi. “And you gotta promise to text me, like, the _second_ you know if you can play, okay?”

“I don’t think that will be an issue.”

“But what if it is??”

“Then you’ll have to play without me for a while.” Akaashi stands. “You’ll be fine. You’re one of the top five aces in Japan, Bokuto-san, you don’t need me.”

“You’re the only one who tosses right,” Bokuto mutters, not mentioning how Akaashi is also the only one who can effectively stop his dejected mode on the court. “And every time I brag about that you just point out how I’m not in the top three!”

“Because you generally need the reminder.”

“Akaashiiiiiiii!”

“I’m going home,” Akaashi says firmly, “and explaining this mess to my family, and tomorrow, I’m going to figure out why this is happening. This cannot affect our play. I refuse to let you lose your last chance at Nationals because of _magic.”_

“You’re taking it better’n I thought you would.”

“It’s difficult to disbelieve something that is clearly physical enough to break your nose,” Akaashi responds deadpan.

“Akaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaashi!”

“Focus, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto trails behind Akaashi and starts making a list of everyone with magic who could maybe help him figure out how the most non-magical person he’s ever met could get smacked in the face by Bokuto’s wing. _Kuroo, Kenma, Inuoka, that librarian who works weekends, Mom and Dad…_

Akaashi’ll work it out. He always does. Bokuto’s never once seen him give up on a problem. It’s thanks to Akaashi that the team no longer falls apart with Bokuto, no longer panics when their ace gets dejected, and it’s thanks to Akaashi and long hours of extra practice that Bokuto spikes as well as he does.

(And Bokuto, under his worry for Akaashi’s possibly-ruined nose, really hopes he’ll be able to show off his wings to his setter-slash-probably-unrequited-crush-slash-teammate-slash…oh, screw it, Akaashi’s too many different things…someday.)


	2. ABCs (Akaashis, Books, and Communication)

He finds Akaashi at the biggest library in Tokyo, on their day off, practically buried in books and fast asleep.

It’s _really_ cute, seeing his incredibly focused, formal, still-uses-san-despite-Bokuto-telling-him-not-to-a-thousand-times setter snoring with his mouth open and drooling on the table. He covers a laugh and shakes Akaashi’s shoulder. “Akaashi? Akaaaaaaashi."

Akaashi’s eyes blink open. He’s always been slow to wake up, and Bokuto waits, watching his eyes travel around the area while he tries to figure out where he is.

“In the library,” Bokuto says, trying to be helpful (while at a safe distance. Once last year Akaashi had punched their captain when he was still waking up. Not their best training camp). “You were researching…uh, I don’t know, you’ve got like, a thousand books here.” He picks one up at random. “You found an actual _book_ on magic? People write books on this stuff?”

“Most of them involve how to deal with your child’s desire to sharpen their antlers on your furniture,” Akaashi says, “but yes. An entire section. Which I have never seen before, so I assume it’s hidden the same way your wings are.”

“There’s a fox librarian,” Bokuto says absently, looking at the title of the book he still has in his hands ( _A Beginner’s Guide to Sewing for Magic Users: Wings, Tails, and More_ ). “She probably stocks it.”

“Fascinating.” Akaashi rubs his eyes. “What are you doing here, Bokuto-san?”

“Looking for you.” Bokuto puts his book down. “Your parents called Coach asking if we had practice today, and Coach told them he’s not our babysitter, so they called me all pissed off and I think we might have to make Coach apologize if we wanna keep you…”

He has now seen Akaashi allow an emotion other than annoyance on his face outside of volleyball twice. Once during finals last year—Bokuto had heard a quiet sniffle and looked up to see their one and only first-year silently crying on the other side of the room. He still denies it.

And once now. Akaashi looks genuinely horrified. “Help me,” he orders, shoving one pile of books into Bokuto’s arms and sorting the remainder into a basket.

“Huh?”

“These need to go back,” Akaashi says, picking up the basket. “I can’t go home with a basket full of books about magic. My parents will think I’ve lost my mind.” He pauses and looks back at Bokuto. “I may have lost my mind, but that aside…”

Bokuto whacks him with one wing in response and snickers at Akaashi’s stifled yell. “That feel fake to you?”

“I’m not completely convinced you haven’t lost your mind as well, Bokuto-san.”

“I’d take you flying if you were smaller,” Bokuto says, “but you’re kinda tall, Akaaaashi. You’re just gonna have to trust me. Like you trust me to hit your tosses.”

“You always blame yourself and tell me to stop tossing to you.”

“Akaaaaaaaaaaaaaashi!”

“ _Shhhhhhh.”_ The hiss comes from at least five separate directions, and Bokuto’s wings snap behind his back.

“Gah!”

“You shouldn’t be loud in a library.” Akaashi doesn’t look _at all_ sympathetic. “Come on. Help me carry these back.”

The magic section has its own to-be-reshelved area, and Akaashi stacks his books on it neatly and quickly. It sort of reminds Bokuto of the way he takes down the net at the end of practice. The fox librarian gives Akaashi a suspicious glance, so Bokuto waves at her with one wing and grins.

“What now?” he asks, once the books are all stacked and waiting to be shelved.

“Chemistry,” Akaashi mutters. “I have a project. They’ll believe that.”

“Right, it’s, uh…” Bokuto _had_ that exact project last year, and practically lived in the library, and _which way is it._ “That way?”

Akaashi looks slightly doubtful, but he follows Bokuto. Bokuto, for his part, just tries to let his feet carry him. His feet probably know where they’re going.

“Found it!” He tries not to be loud, and judging from a nearby student’s glare, does a terrible job. “Oops. Uh…here.” He grabs books off the shelf, trying to remember what helped him last year. He stops when he sees Akaashi staggering under the weight of his basket. “Can I walk you home?”

“I suppose my parents would appreciate you verifying that I was not at weekend practice.” Akaashi frowns down at his basket. “What time is it?”

“Four-something?”

Akaashi’s eye twitches behind the book stack. “I’ve been gone longer than I intended.”

“Well, duh, your parents wouldn’t call Coach otherwise…" Bokuto stops to help Akaashi take his books out of his basket and get them checked out. It doesn't take long, and Akaashi tries to balance the entire stack by himself. "…Akaashi, let me help carry those, you've got like, a thousand."

“A dozen,” but Akaashi lets him take the top half down. “Which you picked out.”

“So did ya find anything?” Bokuto asks, putting his chin on the top of the book stack to balance it. “Before you fell asleep?”

“No.”

Akaashi thinks Bokuto doesn’t notice when he lies, but he does.

He figured out a long time ago that no way is there a pretty girl in the audience nearly as often as Akaashi and their manager say there is (seriously, how dumb do they think he is), and from there, working out Akaashi’s tells was a matter of watching him like he does for everyone anyway. Akaashi is a good liar, actually, and it took ages, but Bokuto finally noticed that his voice shifts ever-so-slightly to the tone he and Kuroo named the Bokuto-san-please voice. It’s just a hair less sarcastic, nothing anyone else could pick up on, as far as he knows (except for Kuroo, and probably also Kenma).

 And that is _definitely_ the Bokuto-san-please voice.

“Right,” Bokuto mutters. “Which way’s your house again?”

Akaashi looks up from his basket. “Bokuto-san, is something…”

“Akaaaaashi I love you and you’re my favorite setter but I’m gonna drop this book pile if I hold it really long and if _I_ can’t hold a stack this high you’re probably about to fall over so can we just go.”

“Turn right and follow me.” Akaashi’s voice shifts back to his normal level of deadpan-irritated, not that Bokuto thinks Akaashi would lie about where his house is anyway. It takes them thirty minutes to get back to Akaashi’s place, dodging pedestrians and trying not to get run over at crosswalks. Bokuto swears he hears Akaashi curse under his breath a few times.

“I’m home,” Akaashi calls, bumping the door open with his hip (a motion that Bokuto only really sees out of the corner of his eye).

“Keiji!” Akaashi’s shoulders stiffen. “Where have you been?”

“The library,” Akaashi answers, setting down his book stack. “I lost track of the time. Bokuto-san, let me get those.” He lifts Bokuto’s books and sets them next to the other ones. “Mom, Dad, this is Bokuto Koutarou-san. My team captain. He’s also our ace. You saw him play at the Inter-High.”

Bokuto sees them looking at his owl hair and owl eyes and flushes, dropping his gaze. “Heh, uh, yeah, hi, nice to meet you, Akaashi-san…s!”

“This is your captain?” Holy crap, so that’s where Akaashi got the disapproving voice. It sounds so _mean_ when it isn’t coming from his Akaashi.

“Yes.” Akaashi’s voice is perfect, neutral, but Bokuto sees his eyes narrow a fraction. “Bokuto-san is one of the top five aces in the country.”

“Missed the top three?” _Wow._ This guy is seriously like an older, meaner, less-courteous Akaashi. And since he _is_ an older, meaner, less-courteous Akaashi, that makes sense.

So Bokuto straightens up and favors the elder Akaashis with his best owl stare. He can’t do disdainful and distant, but he absolutely _can_ do ‘aggressively cheerful’. “Yep! I’m number four. But we’re gonna fix that at the next tournament, right, Kaashi?”

“You’re continuing?” Akaashi’s mother asks. “Haven’t third years usually quit by now?”

“Got an offer from like, two different universities already. Don’t need to focus so much on exams.” Bokuto beams at them. “Plus, I don’t know what Fukurodani’d do without their captain! I don’t wanna throw Akaashi into the spot when there’s still a bunch of third-years around. He’s so polite it might kill him to order them around.”

“Keiji’s the next captain?” _Oops._ Bokuto mouths a _sorry_ to his Akaashi, who glares at him before going back to his poker face.

“He’s the only second-year we have,” he tries. “Plus, he’s like, the entire reason Fukurodani’s so awesome right now. He’s the best setter in the country, probably. He’s gonna have so many scouting offers third year he won’t know what to do with ‘em all.”

“As opposed to you,” Akaashi says dryly, “who ran around shouting for ten minutes after Coach was approached by that scout at the Inter-High.”

“Akaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaashi why do you have to bring that up _now?”_

“Keiji, you didn’t tell us you were planning on continuing volleyball in university.”

“I’m not,” Akaashi says. “It’s ridiculous to plan around something that has yet to happen, and despite Bokuto-san’s confidence, I’m not certain it will.”

“Sure it will!” Bokuto protests. “You’re way better than most setters—don’t tell Kenma I said, but you’re better than him, even. All you gotta do is get through the prelims and you’ll have scouts falling all over you. Might even get a couple at the spring tournament, they watch second-years more there ‘cause the third-years are gone half the time…”

“Bokuto-san.” Bokuto’s mouth clicks shut. The Bokuto-san-please tone is back. “My own position aside, Bokuto-san is an excellent captain, and I have every confidence in our ability to reach Nationals during the next tournament. We’ve all been working hard to improve since the Inter-High, and our next training camp is coming up.”

Bokuto stares. “How come you’re being all optimistic now? For the past month it’s been all _Bokuto-san, please focus_ and _Bokuto-san, calm down_ and _Bokuto-san if you break my nose again I’m transferring schools.”_

“If you break my nose again I will give serious consideration to transferring schools.” Akaashi crosses his arms. “You need to work on controlling your serves.”

“Keiji, you shouldn’t scold your upperclassman like that.”

“Nah, he’s allowed.” Bokuto flaps one arm (and resists the urge to flap his wing with it). “He’s my setter, so it’s kinda his job. I’ve told him to quit using -san, but he doesn’t listen to me. Can’t worry about that stuff on the court, yknow?”

“I used -senpai in my first year until he stopped responding to it and refused to listen to me when I called the toss for him. We compromised with -san.”

“Also I _did_ kinda break his nose,” Bokuto says. “So he’s right, I gotta work on my serves. But you don’t have to yell at me about in front of your parents, Akaaaaashi!” Never mind that Akaashi’s broken nose has nothing to do with his serves.

“You brought it up.” Akaashi fiddles with his fingers in the way he does when he’s thinking through strategies. “Scouts tend to watch Fukurodani at tournaments simply because we are known for having a consistently strong team. Bokuto-san has been working us all hard to keep that reputation intact. You saw him at the Inter-High, so I doubt I have to explain why we place the confidence in him that we do.”

He didn’t realize Akaashi had a level of ‘angry and absolutely about to destroy someone’ past the one he uses at school. His fist is actually clenched in one pocket. He’s _never_ seen Akaashi this pissed.

 _It’s okay, Kaashi._ Maybe Akaashi’s developed telepathy or something. _They’re just having trouble with the way I look. It’s kinda hard to take me seriously, I get it._ Should he try and comb his hair down? Maybe if he made it obey gravity like normal people hair does? And contacts, maybe. Though his pupils aren’t shaped right, so would that work? Circle lenses gotta have _circles,_ right?

“I saw him break down on the court, and I saw you stop tossing to him. That doesn’t seem like something an ‘excellent captain’ does.”

Akaashi’s jaw tightens. “Mother, that isn’t…”

“It’s okay, Kaashi, I got this.” Bokuto gives him a thumbs-up and turns to the Akaashi parents. “Yeah, my teammates call it ‘dejected mode’, but really it’s just a fancy word for ‘gets too worked up to play and makes a bunch of dumb mistakes and then goes all upset about it’. S’why Akaashi’s our official setter, actually, he worked out how to keep everyone else from falling apart when it happens. My middle-school setter and the one I had in high school before Akaashi totally fell apart every time. Akaashi doesn’t even blink! He just tells me to calm down and gets that smirk on his face that he thinks I don’t notice when the other team starts talking.”

“They think losing Bokuto-san makes us weaker,” Akaashi says quietly. “They believe our ace and captain is our only good player, and that his removal from play will upset our team’s balance too much to recover from.”

“And Akaashi figured out this whole strategy to make sure the rest of the team doesn’t fall apart.” Bokuto grins. “He’s really awesome! Akaashi, want me to go so you can work on your, uh, your science thing?”

“Yes, please. Thank you for reminding me of the time, Bokuto-san. Please remind me to extend my apologies to Coach tomorrow at practice.”

“Eh, Coach’ll be fine once he stops grumbling.” Bokuto laughs. “Besides, it’s _his_ fault our families all have his phone number. Good luck, Kaashi!” _With everything._

Too crowded this time of day to fly home, so Bokuto walks.

Runs.

Kind of sprints.

He _really_ wants to bug Akaashi about the magic thing.

Akaashi doesn’t lie unless he thinks it’s important. His definition of ‘important’ usually extends to ‘anything that could potentially mess with Bokuto’s ability to play volleyball’. And for the life of him, Bokuto can’t see how Akaashi turning magic could fall under that category. It’s not like he keeps his wings out for matches.

Wait, though, he can’t bug Akaashi unless he points out to Akaashi that he knows when Akaashi’s lying, and then he’ll change all his tactics, probably, because he’s _Akaashi._

So he’ll just have to go to the library and do his own research. He’s not a fast reader the way Akaashi is, but given enough time, he can figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly the lack of feedback on everything I've posted recently has basically killed my desire to write but that new manga chapter made me angry enough to sort-of-edit this and post it up. akaashi's more observant than that. @haruichi furudate FIGHT ME.  
> (comments/kudos appreciated as always! come talk to me on tumblr @timidfantasist)


End file.
